


Fake It 'Til You Make It

by Reaping



Series: Artsy April [13]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale pack, Everybody Lives, F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending, High School Reunions, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, fake boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 09:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6560239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reaping/pseuds/Reaping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April 14th Prompt: Pretend</p><p>“Scott,” he sighs and tries to find a way to explain it better, “the only things people who go to their high school reunion care about are if someone got rich or someone got married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fake It 'Til You Make It

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing a lovely challenge with some friends called Artsy April. They'll be doing art, but since I cannot draw or paint or sculpt or do basically anything art-related to save my life, I'm doing a daily fic. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> If I missed tags let me know. Concrit is always welcome and appreciated.

“I’m not going.” His frustration is evident, they’d been going around in circles about this for an hour and he was tired of having to repeat himself.

“If I’m going, you’re going,” Lydia snapped, more frazzled than he’d seen her in awhile.

“Hate to break it to you Lyds, but I’m not. And stop looking at me like that, the time when you could make me do whatever you wanted has long since passed.” Her lips purse as she hums at him, but she doesn’t speak and he’s hoping that he’s finally gotten through to them all.

“But why not?” He bites back a scream at Scott’s earnest expression. Ten years since they graduated high school and Scott is still a giant puppy.

“ _Because_ , as I’ve said already, I don’t want to. High school was not fun for me, in case you forgot. The only people I was ever friends with are the people in this room. Why would I want to spend money to see people who didn’t give a shit about me? There is literally nothing there for me.”

“But we’ll be there!” After everything they’ve been through together, Stiles is surprised to find this is what makes him most want to strangle Scott. He can’t hold back the scream of frustration this time, hands flailing into the air before he remembers that he’s twenty-eight and has better control of his limbs than this. “Don’t you want to show them how awesome you are? You have a PhD in Criminal Psychology, you work for the FBI! Don’t you want to show off?”

“Scott,” he sighs and tries to find a way to explain it better, “the only things people who go to their high school reunion care about are if someone got rich or someone got married. Since I have done neither, there’s nothing that’s going to impress them. And I don’t care about impressing them anyhow. There is nobody I want to see there who isn’t here tonight.”

“What about Danny?” The voice is a purr and he can’t help the quick hitch of his heart at the mention of their former friend, who everyone recently discovered Stiles had harbored a crush on during his high school years when he was still figuring his sexuality out. It’s stupid, because he doesn’t even want Danny now, but there’s that tiny niggling doubt he’s always had about whether or not Danny would’ve been interested if he had realized Stiles was serious all the time’s he’d asked if he was attractive. He can hear Erica chuckle at his body’s response and shoots her a glare.

“Danny didn’t want me then, he’s not going to want me now. And even if he does, I’m not–” he breaks off as the loft door opens and Derek steps inside, arms laden with bags from the Thai food place down the street. He hops up and starts grabbing bags, hoping the sudden movement accounts for the second skip in his heartbeat. He knows the others know about his feelings, but they’ve graciously not said anything and no matter how annoyed he gets, he’s eternally grateful. Between the storm that was high school and his FBI academy training, he’s managed to learn how to hide just about anything from the wolves, but sometimes he’s not at the top of his game, and they gossip like nobody’s business. One drunken confession to Erica and the entire pack was in the know. His heart is well under control by the time they finish laying out the cartons and plates.

“You’re not what?”

“What?” He’s got noodles halfway to his mouth when Derek asks.

“When I was coming in you were saying you weren’t something, what are you not doing?”

“Oh, going to the reunion.” The best lies aren’t lies at all, just a misdirection of the truth. This is a thing that is true, it’s just not the thing he’d been talking about when Derek walked in.

“Oh, why?” The noodles slide off of the chopsticks before Stiles drops them onto his plate, flopping backwards on the couch, one hand slapping against his thigh as the other moves up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. So of course it’s Erica who speaks first.

“He doesn’t have a hot boyfriend or girlfriend to show up with and make everybody jealous, so he doesn’t want to go.” He chucks a pillow at her head because that is not at all what he’d said, but she just cackles and ducks it.

“I’ll go with you.” And Jesus his smile as he offers, this is the opposite of what Stiles actually wants.

“You….will go…with me? That’s…Derek nobody is going to believe that we’re dating.” Which is true, because Derek is Derek and these people know Stiles. Knew him. Same difference. “Well, first off, because…” and he just kind of flails his hands between them, which is ridiculous because he doesn’t do this anymore (except when Derek is around he totally does). “And secondly, because people in a relationship actually behave like they’re in a relationship, and that’s not…we won’t be able to do that convincingly.” And maybe Derek sees it as a challenge, Stiles isn’t really sure, because the next thing he knows there’s a warm body crowding into his space, one hand crawling up his thigh as the other cups his cheek gently, thumb tracing across his lower lip, wiping away a bit of the sauce from the one bite of noodles he’d managed before this discussion started up again. His eyes track Derek’s hand as it moves away from his face, Derek’s lips closing over his thumb, tongue flickering out to lick the sauce off of it before he’s suddenly back on his own cushion, picking up his chopsticks like he’d never dropped them and having another bite of his beef pad prik king. The rest of the pack are staring at Stiles, expressions mirroring his own, eyes wide and mouths open.

“Convincing enough?”

“Yeah,” he barely croaks it out, clears his throat and tries again, “yeah, that should do it.” He shifts forward on the couch again, staring down at his food, heart constricting in his chest.

“You don’t have to go.” Scott blurts it out into the silence, nobody else sure what to do or say for the moment. “I mean, I know you don’t want to, and we didn’t mean to push so you don’t have to.”

“Afraid I can’t keep it up for Stiles?” Isaac nearly chokes on the bite of food he’d shoveled into his mouth when Derek speaks.

“No! No, I just, this is a lot to ask from you and like, super awkward and –”

“Scott! It’s fine. We’ll go, it’ll be fine.” God, he loves Scott but seriously, right now? If he’d let him ramble any longer Scott was going to let it slip out that they realize how big of a mistake this is going to be for Stiles, how much it’s going to hurt him to play pretend with Derek. He can see it on everyone’s faces, even Erica – who almost never feels guilty about anything she says or does – is looking like someone kicked her puppy. Stiles stuffs his mouth with food so he can’t be expected to talk again, and everyone else does the same. Even he can feel the tension in the air, but if Derek isn’t going to comment on it, nobody else will either. Hopefully he’s chalking it up to…god Stiles doesn’t even know what he hopes Derek’s thinking about right now. He starts clearing plates as soon as it seems the pack is mostly full, packing away the leftovers into the fridge and starting the dishwasher. Most of the pack is on their way out the door by the time he finishes and tries to make his own escape, only to find an arm thrown up to block his way. He swallows and works on keeping his heart steady as he turns to face Derek, who’s watching him with a puzzled frown. Eventually the silence gets to him, and he raises his eyebrows, flicking his eyes to Derek’s arm and back. It seems to clear up whatever confusion was keeping the other man from talking at least.

“When’s the reunion?”

“Um, Friday. Its business casual – they’re holding it at that new fancy hotel that opened downtown that nobody stays in because this is Beacon Hills and people won’t pay that much to stay here.” Jesus now he’s rambling, like Derek doesn’t know any of that himself. His stupid crush (and god how he doesn’t want to call it that, but he can’t really bring himself to declare it as his epic love for yet another person who’s never going to love him back) is going to become glaringly obvious if they’re going through with this. He doesn’t hold much hope that their friendship will survive Derek finding out about it. Mostly because Derek will know how hard he’s pretending every time they’re in the same place, and it’s going to make him uncomfortable. But maybe it’s better that he finds out, at least Stiles will get to hear the ‘no’ out loud, will maybe be able to stop waiting for some sign that Derek feels the same way, will stop waiting around for something that’s never going to happen.

“Okay, see you then.” Derek’s smile was bright and genuine, nothing to indicate he was aware of Stiles’ inner monologue. He dropped his arm and Stiles slipped past him, grabbing his jacket on his way out the door.

 

**

 

He skids as he rushes into the house, flinging his jacket at the coat rack and charging up the stairs.

“I’m here, I’m here, sorry!” He’s panting by the time he makes it to his room where Lydia is waiting, clothes for tonight laid out on the bed. He grimaces when he sees she’s even chosen his underwear, he’s going to have to have a talk with everyone about boundaries again soon. Not tonight, because he’s late and thus actually grateful for the current lack of them, but soon.

“Stiles, calm down. Shower, change, we’ll just wait if you’re not ready. For someone who didn’t want to go at all, I’m surprised you care if we’re late at all.”

“I don’t.” Lydia arches a brow at him, better than any of the wolves at knowing when he’s lying, but good enough to not actually call him on it. She nods her head at the bathroom and leaves the room. He showers quickly, drying off and getting dressed in record time. He’s running lightly gelled fingers through his hair when there’s a soft knock at his door. “Come in!” He’s assuming its Lydia come back to check on him. He’s wrong. The face that peeks around the door is considerably more stubbled than hers and startles him enough that he jumps slightly in place.

“Hey,” it will never fail to amaze Stiles how soft Derek’s voice really is, as long as he’s not yelling. “You look good, about ready to go make all your old classmates jealous?” He waggles his eyebrows and it draws a snort of laughter out of Stiles, the action far more like him than Derek. That’s just what happens when you know someone long enough though, you tend to rub off on one another. And that thought brings up another bubble of laughter, which he has to choke down or explain, and he really doesn’t want to explain. He shakes himself and gives his hair one last check in the mirror, figuring it’s as good as it’s going to get. When he steps back into the bedroom, his breath catches in his throat and he wonders if Lydia picked out Derek’s clothes too (he really wouldn’t put it past her). The other man is standing there in grey slacks so dark they’re nearly black, a deep red button up left untucked, sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms and top two buttons undone, a dusting of chest hair glimpsed every time he shifts. Stiles’ own slacks are a little lighter, the tie a matching shade, and his shirt so pale the blue is almost white, sleeves just as artfully rolled up.

“You look good too.” It’s all he can manage before his mouth dries up completely, and the smile that answers him is so beautiful it hurts. He clears his throat and smiles back, though he can feel the tightness in it, before leading the way out the door and back downstairs, where the rest of the pack is waiting. Everyone’s dressed up and for a minute he has flashbacks to proms past, but he doesn’t let the memories overwhelm him. They all shuffle outside to a waiting limo, another gift courtesy of Lydia, whose house he shares while he works on saving for his own (she’d insisted it was stupid of him to rent when she had plenty of space and was rarely home to begin with, he didn’t argue because he wanted to buy a place and renting wouldn’t make that possible). There are several bottles of champagne waiting inside the car, uncorked, but Lydia’s hand on his arm stops him as he reaches for one.

“Not that one, that’s for the pack.” She twists the bottle so he can see the label, tapping on a scrolled “W” near the top of it. “I finally figured out the formula.” She smiles as the wolves all whoop in excitement – they’d been talking about how to make alcohol work on the supernaturally inclined for a long time and experimenting nearly as long. Lydia passed the first marked bottle to Derek, pulling a second out and passing it the other way around starting with Erica, before grabbing the third bottle for her, Stiles, and Allison. She poured them all glasses and waited until the rest of the pack was ready before raising her own. “To surviving high school and everything that came after.” Everyone laughs and has a sip, the excitement for tonight starting to build. Stiles is glad for the first time that he didn’t skip this.

The drive to the Beacon Lights Resort (which is not even remotely like a resort) takes no time at all, everyone laughing and chatting easily as the doors open to let them out. The wolves freeze momentarily once they’ve all spilled onto the sidewalk, faces tilted up to indicate they’re catching a scent. It makes Stiles tense and start to worry, but the wolves all relax quickly and turn towards the person now approaching from the car stopped behind their limo. It’s a red Porsche, and Stiles is not even a little surprised at the owner of it.

“Jackson! I thought you weren’t coming!” Lydia’s voice is all joy, and Stiles knows it’s real. He also knows the two of them had reconnected when she’d been away at college, their love reigniting like he’d never left. He’s happy for her, and for Jackson too (which had surprised him right up until he’d visited them when he was in D.C. – at which point he realized that Jackson had grown a lot in his time away and was actually not a bad guy when he wasn’t trying to out-douche everyone). He watches with a smile as the man lifts Lydia and spins her, dropping a soft kiss on her lips before setting her back on her feet and coming over to greet everyone else. Surprisingly, everyone else is just as happy to see him as Lydia, and there are hugs from everyone except Kira, who never knew Jackson to begin with. Even Derek gives him one. If Stiles were to wager a guess, he’d be betting Jackson had been in contact to discuss joining the pack. The friendly way Scott throws an arm over his shoulder moves his guess up to a near assurance. Lydia will be happy, despite all her travelling for work, Stiles could see that the long distance relationship was taking a toll. Once everyone is done saying hello and Kira has been introduced, they head up the steps and into the ostentatious lobby. It’s all gleaming marble floors and gilt decorations and all Stiles can think is _overdone_ and _tacky_. He’s maybe been living with Lydia too long if he’s caring about things like this.  The ballroom that’s been reserved for the reunion is packed when they walk in after picking up their name badges from a table outside the doors. This room is darker, though equally designed, and filled with tables and people and buffet tables laden food and booze. Music is playing from the back corner, loud enough to be heard but not so loud they can’t all talk over it, which he’s sure the wolves are grateful for. They’re early enough that they easily find a table large enough to accommodate them all and settle in, grabbing drinks and food, taking turns filling Jackson in on everything that’s been going on since the last time they’d each talked to him. They’re so caught up they don’t notice the person approaching their table.

“Miguel, you made it!” It’s sad with a laugh and a blinding smile, a hand dropping onto Derek’s shoulder. It startles the rest of the table, everyone turning to stare at the man standing behind Derek and Stiles. Stiles is trying to sputter out a response about how that was a huge lie when Danny winks at him and he remembers that Danny knows that already, that he’s just joking. At least Stiles knows his inability to function isn’t necessarily Derek-specific, it’s related to anyone he crushed on at any point in time (except Lydia, who he’s become immune to after so much exposure – and wouldn’t she be proud of him for his scientific deduction on that one).

“Danny!” Jackson is up out of his chair before anyone else can react, pulling the other man into a hug. “Good to see you.”

“You too man, all of you.” He drags a chair over from the table beside theirs, maneuvering himself between Stiles and Derek as Jackson sits back down, forcing them both to scoot to the sides. Stiles is fine with it right up until he sees Danny’s knee brush against Derek’s and then stay there, neither man pulling back. He tries to tell himself it’s nothing, that it doesn’t mean anything. He tunes back into the conversation, forcing laughter at the jokes Danny’s making about how nothing’s really changed, all of them packed in together and so far avoiding the rest of their graduating class.

“All except you,” Danny’s half-turned towards Derek, patting at his thigh to emphasize the words, “you’re avoiding everyone, you just didn’t graduate with the rest of them.” He dimples at Derek, the hand he’d patted him with still resting on the other man’s leg, and Stiles knows he’s glaring, can feel his own jaw clenching, and knows he has no right. He watches Derek laugh at Danny’s jokes and almost chokes on the hurt that runs through him. He’d thought his zero chance with Derek was because Derek was straight – everything he’d ever known about the other man’s preferences indicated that. Watching the way Derek is smiling back now, watching him flirt (because Stiles knows what Derek flirting looks like, has seen it enough in both it’s real and fake forms to recognize it), makes him see that he was fooling himself. His lack of a chance always started and ended with the fact that Derek has never once indicated any real interest in him. Which is fine, because he’s not one of those guys who believe in the bullshit ‘friendzone’. If someone doesn’t like you back, they don’t, and they don’t owe you anything just because you have feelings. But if Derek might like Danny, Stiles isn’t going to screw that up by insisting they play out the charade they had planned for tonight. He’d already been rethinking it to begin with, honestly not caring what these people thought of him now any more than he had by the time high school ended. He’s not entirely sure he can sit here and watch this happen though, his chest is already tightening. He glances to Lydia, sees her watching him, her own eyes a little wide and apologetic – so at least he’s sure what he’s seeing isn’t all in his own head then. None of the others will meet his eyes, so he knows they’ve seen it too. He swallows hard, looking back to Lydia and mouthing that he’s leaving. She nods and he stands.

“Stiles?” It’s Derek, and Stiles puts on his best workplace smile, turning to face him.

“Be right back!” He’s pretty sure his heart doesn’t skip, and he forces himself to move at a calm pace, out the doors, angling like he’s heading towards the bathroom before they close behind him and he shifts course to the lobby and the cool air outside. He’s sweating by the time he hits the curved driveway, heart thumping unevenly in his chest. He can feel the edges of the panic attack, works at controlling his breathing and keeping it at bay. He pulls out his phone, waiting while the Uber app opens. He’s about to confirm the car when a hand grabs onto his elbow, spinning him around.

“Stiles, what the hell?” Derek looks a little angry, annoyed even.

“What?”

“Where are you going?” He watches Derek cross his arms over his chest, eyebrows rising.

“Home.” The fluttering pain is back, darting in his chest and making him work harder to keep his composure.

“What? Why? And why didn’t you tell me you wanted to go? I thought you wanted to show off to these people, you can’t do that if you’re disappearing less than an hour in.” His laughter sounds broken even to his own ears, incredulity seeping into his words.

“I don’t care about that, I never did. And I’m not going to hold you to that when you’re clearly interested in someone else. I’m not an asshole…well, I am, but I’m not an asshole about stuff like that.”

“What?” Derek’s face is a mask of confusion, eyebrows drawn together and head tilted.

“Danny – you were flirting with him.” He holds up his hand when it looks like Derek is about to deny it. “Don’t. I know what you flirting looks like, not from personal experience because I’m me, but I’ve seen it. So has everyone else. I’m not the only one who noticed. It’s fine. I didn’t really want to be here anyway. I told everyone that to begin with. Just, go have a good time, ask Danny out, he’ll say yes – he’s always been attracted to you. I’m gonna go home. I’m fine.” He knows his heart skips on the last word, can’t really stop it. The pain in his chest has been intensifying with every word. It’s stupid, he knows it is, but that doesn’t mean he can stop it from hurting.

“Stiles, what’s going on?” The concern in Derek’s voice is almost enough to break him. He swallows against it, turning away, eyes closing like that will stop the tears that are threatening.

“I’m fine, nothing’s going on.” His heart is beating erratically, throat going tight.

“Stiles, talk to me.”

“Please don’t make me do this.” It’s barely out there, so quiet it’s almost lost.

“Don’t make you do what?” And Derek’s there, at his back, hand settling on his shoulder, tugging him around again. Stiles turns his face away and answers.

“Fine. I can’t go back inside because I can’t watch that anymore. I can’t watch you want Danny and not me. I can’t watch another person I love not love me back. And I didn’t want to tell you because I know you don’t feel that way and I didn’t want to lose our friendship. I don’t want you to feel guilty for not feeling things for me. I’m not that guy. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy. So go back inside and let me go home. Please.” His voice breaks at the last, the tears spilling silently down his cheeks, shoulders hunching like that will stop his heart from shattering.

“Stiles…” he feels the fingers on his face, feels it scrunching up as he shakes his head, refusing to open his eyes, like in doing so he’ll be able to will everything outside of himself away. He reaches his own hand up, covering his eyes, trying to pull himself together long enough to leave with some bit of his dignity still intact. He doesn’t resist when he feels a hand tugging at his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. He gives in and opens his eyes, blinks against the tears still leaking from them. Derek’s staring at him, mouth parted to speak.

“Please don’t. I know already, please don’t make it worse.”

“Stiles, _shut up_.” It’s all he gets before a mouth is on his, lips soft and demanding. His mouth parts in surprise and it’s all the invitation Derek needs to lick his way inside, hands shifting against Stiles’ face until his head is tilted at a better angle. It takes his brain a moment to catch on to what’s happening, and then his kissing back with equal fervor, his own hands coming up to tangle in Derek’s hair, pulling them tightly together. They’re both panting when they pull apart to breathe, Derek resting his forehead against Stiles’.

“Derek, I don’t understand…why now?” He can’t shake the worry that this is Derek trying to make him stop hurting, not Derek really wanting him back. It wouldn’t be the first time Derek sacrificed his own happiness for the pack. “What about Danny?”

“What _about_ Danny? Stiles, I wasn’t flirting with him.”

“I have eyes, I’m pretty sure I know what you flirting looks like.” And he’s pulling himself back now, the worry seeping through him because he _does_ know what it looks like, and so do Lydia and the rest of the pack, and Stiles _knows_ they all saw it too.

“Okay fine! I was flirting with him. But it isn’t what you think.” He mumbles something else so quietly that Stiles can’t catch it.

“What? I didn’t hear whatever you just said.” He’s surprised when Derek’s chinks tinge pink before he repeats himself.

“I said…I was trying to make you jealous.”

“Oh. _Oh!_ Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smiles before launching himself back at Derek, their mouths crashing together and startling laughter from both of them. He feels Derek’s arms wrap around him, a movement he’s more than happy to mirror, wrapping the other man up tightly in his own embrace and slotting their mouths back together. They’re lost in one another, not sure how much time is passing, when a throat clears behind them.

“The limo will be back to pick you up in five minutes. _Do not have sex in it_. You can wait until you get to Derek’s loft. Understand?” They break apart long enough to nod at Lydia, not even a little ashamed. She smiles brilliantly at them before turning on her heel and heading back into the hotel, where they can make out the rest of the pack watching through the glass doors of the lobby. They hear someone yelling ‘finally’ as the doors swish open, and can’t stop the laughter that it sparks. They’re still laughing when the limo pulls up and the driver opens the door for them, pretending not to notice them falling all over each other with the practiced ease of a longtime professional. They manage to make it back to the loft without breaking the agreement to Lydia, but only just barely.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://jennthereaper.tumblr.com)!


End file.
